


The Jewel of Mirkwood

by sumChick



Series: Just some first chapters. [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, First Love, Gold Sick Thorin, Incest, Incomplete, Lost Child, Love at First Sight, M/M, One Shot, Parent Thranduil, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumChick/pseuds/sumChick
Summary: When Thranduil told Thorin he wanted his jewels from the mountain he wasn't talking about gems. Thorin finds Thranduil's lost treasure in the mountain and he realizes how the Elf King has suffered.





	The Jewel of Mirkwood

“WE WILL GET THIS MAHAL DAMNED BOX OPEN!!!” Roared Thorin at his company as they used their finest tools and even their finest weapons to chip away and tear at the large stone, tomb-like chest. 

It was a fine chest, black stone with fine curlicue patterns carved and inlaid with gold all over. The patterns had precious stones set to catch the light and it was a truly beautiful piece of craftsmanship. It was also locked. Being such a fine chest, in pride of place on a dais above all the other jewels, it led Thorin to believe that this chest might contain something of incredible value. It was large and so finely decorated. Nothing else in the entire dragon’s hoard had been so well looked after. Not a single speck of dust marred the gleaming black stone. Not one coin was carelessly placed atop the casket looking chest.

Thorin didn’t know why he searched so madly but he _had to know_ what was in this chest. There was an empty place in his heart now. Bilbo had betrayed him and so had been cast out. Banished. Unwanted. Thorin felt a dull ache and he filled it with evermore gold. And then there was this chest! He _needed_ it open. He needed the treasure inside. Because somehow, somewhere, there had to be a treasure worth more than Bilbo.

His fingers were bruised, sweat streaked across his face, his eyes reddened and itching. He just needed more gold. He had to get more gold. _He had to!_

With a cracking groan the lock on the chest finally broke. With a final heave Dwalin pushed the lid off of the casket and the company took a step back as Thorin took a step forward.

There was nothing that could have prepared him for what he found. Thranduil’s words rang in his mind, as did the Elvenking’s fury.

_There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems. Pure starlight._

The Elvenking of the Woodland Realms had seemed so cold.

_I will let you go if you but return what is mine._

Thorin had been enraged at the audacity of such a request. He had lost more than mere trinkets in the fall of Erebor. 

_Do not talk to me of dragon fire, I know it’s wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north. I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon. He would not listen. You are just like him._

It hadn’t made sense, the loss of composure. The reveal of his scars. Why would Thranduil show such to a dwarf? And how dare Thranduil blame his grandfather for the fall of Erebor?! It was the Elvenking himself that had betrayed the dwarves, not the other way around! At least he had thought so…

But now…

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes were wide and staring. The rest of the company was the same. He wasn’t sure a single breath was shared among them as they stared into the casket. Thorin’s first thought had been more apt then he’d realised. The stone chest was, in fact, a tomb. And within, lie the body of an elfling child. Perfectly preserved, as though even death could not mar the fabled elven beauty.

The child was heart breakingly beautiful. He had short spikes of golden hair, that curled ever slightly to frame his smooth face. His cheeks rounded with his youth, his lashes darker against his skin. His ears pointed delicately into his short hair, and Thorin had never seen an elf with short hair before. A golden circlet rested upon his head with a fine purple amethyst on his brow. The body was slim, wrapped in fine white and silver vestments of the finest silks. They shone and the boy’s hands were pale and still resting against his chest. On his neck he wore a finely made necklace of white jewels, threaded and hung on delicate silver chains. His face was young, and graced with the beauty of his race, although his eyebrows were darker than his hair and even in the dim light of the caverns, Thorin could see the resemblance between this boy and Thranduil.

And he understood. He finally understood the Elvenking’s rage. How could he not?

Fili and Kili were his sons more than not, to imagine finding either of them this way… Thorin’s heart constricted in his chest and he let out a long shaky breath, feeling his mind clear in a way it hadn’t been for many a day. He could see now, how blinded was he by the gold, but he _could see now_. Thranduil’s rage had been that of an aggrieved father. He took a breath, fillings his lungs with deep, mountain air. He understood now.

“Fili, Kili, separate the gold, I want enough put aside to assist Bard and his rebuilding, we will honour our word to Laketown.” Thorin turned to his nephews, trusting them as his heirs and as his sons. He knew that they would carry out this task. “Oin, Dori, Balin, find any other elf treasures and separate them so that we might return them to King Thranduil. Dwalin, you’re with me. The rest of you? Tear down that wall. Now.” 

There were mixed looks of relief and disbelief amongst his company but they rushed to fulfil his orders nevertheless. Thorin stepped up to the casket and looked once more down at the elf boy within. He felt more himself than he had in days. On principle he hated the elves, but even he could not be so callous as to condemn a child – no matter their race. He gave a last lingering look to the still body in the tomb before him. The boy was so well preserved it looked as though he were merely sleeping. Then he noticed the movement, slight, but still there. The boy’s hands rose and fell slightly on his chest, a chest that was breathing. Thorin ripped off one of his gloves carelessly and lowered a shaking hand to the boy’s face. He could feel warm breath against his fingers.

The boy was alive!

Thorin gasped again, almost as if in pain. The boy was alive. How long had he rested here? In this slumber, hidden away with dragon’s gold? It had been so many years since Erebor had been taken. Had this poor elfling been here the entire time?

Thorin threw off his other glove and stripped himself roughly of his armour. His crown was tossed crudely to the side. This boy had known nothing but hardness and coldness for far too long. With gentle hands, in only his undershirt and pants and boots, he pulled the sleeping child into his arms

He was so small. So fragile. In Thorin’s arms he barely weighed anything at all. He turned to Dwalin. “I will return him to his father.”

Dwalin nodded and hefted his hammer. “And I’ll protect you while yer hands are busy.” He gruffed.

The wall broke and Thorin headed out into the light to give a son back to his father.

Thranduil was inspecting his troops on the back of his elk, with Bard trotting along at his side. His patience was wearing thin and his mood was icy, Legolas, fortunately, had returned and joined his legion. His son now rode a little behind them. He would be having words with his son later. Stern words.

He had already tried to reason with the foolish dwarves and now simply waited, preparing to attack upon the morrow. He would claim back his treasure in the mountain… the jewel his family had lost. Legolas didn’t understand why his father was acting so. Thranduil couldn’t explain it to him… not yet. There were words that hurt too much to speak. Mithrandir kept giving him sorrowful looks, so Thranduil surmised that the old wizard might understand, at least, a little.

Thranduil looked up at the Lonely Mountain. His face was blank, cool, reserved. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest as he fought the futile battle to contain his feelings. His rage, his loss, his guilt. He needed his treasure from the mountain. He closed his eyes briefly, his façade giving in to his grief for just a moment. He needed to see.

Thranduil just wanted to see his eldest son one last time, even if all that remained were ashes, dust, and the jewel’s his mother had adorned him with on that terrible day.

Thranduil’s heart ached but he opened his eyes to once more stare up at the Lonely Mountain. He would reclaim what was lost.

His eyes narrowed as his keen ears picked up the sound of cracking and moving stone. His eyes widened as he saw the dwarves from in the mountain tear down the fortification they had built. His archers raised their bows but he raised a hand for them to stop, curious.

They pushed down their walls and in doing so fashioned a stairway of sorts that led up into the mountain. On the top of the stairway, looking down, was Thorin. He was not in his armour, he looked more a common dwarf then a king, but Thranduil’s breath caught and held when he spied the silver shining in Thorin’s arms.

Thranduil’s whole world froze as Thorin slowly walked down the mountain, with only a single dwarf at his side, the others remaining on the makeshift battlements above. But Thranduil was no longer looking at the dwarves but at the treasure being carried carefully down the mountain.

“Frilief…” He breathed out the name like a whispered prayer.

Legolas looked at his father, something about that whispered name was hauntingly familiar, but he had no time to ponder it, as Thranduil suddenly seemed to explode into motion.

Thranduil did not care for the shocked gasps behind him, nor the confused look on Legolas’s face, nor did he care for the knowing smile gracing Mithrandir’s aged features. He dismounted his elk and ran, on his own two feet, across the stone before the lonely mountain as Thorin carried the Jewel of Mirkwood towards him. His grace was forgotten, his status was forgotten, all there was in the world was his long lost son in the arms of a dwarf.

Thorin stopped as Thranduil came closer and the Elvenking slid to a stop on his knees in front of the dwarf, his hands reaching, shaking, out to the once lost treasure in Thorin’s arms. He could scarcely dare to believe and worried that his touch would unravel the vision in front of him. His beautiful Frilief, whole, looking not a day older than the day he had been lost.

“From one king to another.” Thorin echoed Thranduil’s own words as he held out his precious bundle.

Thranduil looked up for a second to meet the King Under the Mountain’s eyes, seeing only truth and perhaps understanding, but he could not tear his gaze from his son for long. His eyes sought out his child’s still face and his shaking fingers reached out to what was surely his son’s corpse. Even in repose, his precious jewel was as beautiful as he had always been. Frilief shone so brightly it almost hurt to look at him and with trembling arms, for the first time in close to two millennia, Thranduil embraced and held his eldest son.

Frilief folded so easily into his arms, he was so still, so fragile… like the finest spun glass resting in his grasp. Thranduil held him as tightly as he dared, worried he could shatter the vision if squeezed too tight, worried Frilief would fade if he held not tight enough.

He lowered his head, resting his cheek against the crowned forehead of his precious jewel, it was then that he felt the most beautiful thing he had ever felt – warm breath against his lips. Thranduil parted slightly from his eldest child to look down and see that his chest was rising and falling rhythmically. “He breathes!” Thranduil gasped out, tears rising unbidden to his eyes. He did not wipe them away, there was no shame in them, he let them fall as he looked up in wonder. “He breathes!” He stated again, his voice a mere whisper and Thorin smiled at him.

“Aye.” The King Under the Mountain agreed, “That he does.”

Thranduil smiled and though his hand trembled so, he gently ran his hand through his son’s hair. “He lives.” His voice similarly shook. He was aware of Legolas kneeling down at his side.

Legolas looked curiously at the elfling in his father’s arms. The boy looked familiar but distantly so. Almost like a face he knew but he just could not quite place it, the boy was beautiful. Young, but still so elegant, his almost pixie like features were strikingly attractive. Surely he would have remembered this child of his people if they’d ever met? What was most stunning was his father’s reaction to the boy. This was the most emotion he had seen from his father for… well the most emotion he had seen ever. It unnerved him, but he knew his place and if his father needed him now then he would be strong enough for both of them. While Thranduil had been colder to him than usual in recent years, Legolas still dearly loved his father and in his heart held faith that his father had the same regard for him. They may have drifted apart in recent years, but Thranduil was his father and he wouldn’t trade their bond for anything. Still, curiosity couldn’t help but get the best of him, “Father?” He asked, quiet enough so that only the three of them would hear. 

Thranduil turned to look at Legolas, meeting his dear youngest son’s eyes. Legolas didn’t know… didn’t remember the brother taken from him when he had been but a babe. Thranduil could still see them… running through Greenwood together, golden hair shining in the forest light, Legolas barely in his twenties and still so tiny, Frilief had only just reached his eighties. They had been so beautiful together and then… Thranduil had lost his eldest son and his wife all in the space of a few short years. It was no wonder the Blight had taken hold in his grief, transforming the once beautiful Greenwood into the Mirkwood it was today. Only his living, breathing son, had spared him death through a fading heart. He had held on through his mourning, for Legolas.

Thranduil had no answer for Legolas, not right now while he held his other son who was still breathing, even after all this time. He turned instead, back to the gem in his arms, looking oddly enough to his eldest for the answers he sought. His eyes lingered on his son’s face, but narrowed when he noticed the golden crown resting there. Gold had no place on his silver starlit son, it was something Frilief had always disdained. Thranduil felt his stomach clench with disgust as he realized that it must have been Smaug’s doing. With a snarl he removed the crown and tossed it aside. He felt a dark magic leave his son as the crown hit the ground. His hand fluttered back down to smooth over Frilief’s beautiful hair. Still so short… Even after all this time.

His fingers stroked through silken locks that were as pale as his own. Thranduil’s breath caught once again as the steady breathing of the one in his arms started to change.

As though a spell had been lifted, Frilief gasped slightly, pale eyelids fluttering open and then closed just as quickly. He whimpered quietly, curling closer to the only warmth he had felt for so many years. He had been so cold… always so cold…

“Frilief?” Thranduil asked, “Nín bain celeb tinu, nín mell einior ion, (My fair silver tiny-star, my dear eldest son) can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?” His tears flowed freely as he spoke, obscuring his vision but he could not spare a hand to wipe his eyes while he held and soothed his waking son.

Legolas looked up as he heard his father call the boy his ‘eldest son’, but looked back down as the elfling stirred. Delicate eyes fluttered open once more, this time the young one frowned slightly and his pale blue eyes met those of Legolas, just once, just briefly, before flickering back up to Thranduil’s. That one moment when their eyes met had been enough. Legolas’s breath caught and his heart near stopped. This unexplained elfling was the most stunning creature he had ever seen. Most elves found their mates early in life, many in the first few hundred years. Legolas had seen near two millennia and he had never felt the need find a mate of his own. There had always been something in him, telling him to wait, that he had not found the one. He felt acid like dread sink into his stomach as he watched his father soothe the boy with whispered comforts, and he vowed to keep this sudden stirring in his heart silent.

“Ada…?(Father…?)” Little Frilief whispered as he blinked up at his father. “How? Where?” The more he breathed the more he tasted the air around him, so different from the musty stone prison he had been trapped in. The more he looked the more his eyes cleared and he could actually see open sky above him. “Im al-ananneth îdh mîn edhelharn! (I no longer rest in stone!)” He gasped, awed as he looked from the sky and back to his father. His regal father, brought to tears before him.

Frilief lifted a trembling hand to rest against his father’s cheek, Thranduil was warm to the touch and tears pooled against his fingers. Frilief smiled, “Ada!”

Thranduil held Frilief’s hand against his face and smiled softly back down at the son he had thought lost. “I am here ion-nín, I am here. And so are you.” He gently squeezed his son’s hand. “So are you!” He whispered roughly, his voice catching in his throat. He had expected to find, at best, a corpse in the Lonely Mountain. Or at worst, just the empty jewels that were currently gracing his son’s neck. He had not expected that his son should be living and breathing in his arms.

Frilief marveled in the feel of his father’s skin against his own. He was so soft, so warm… Frilief could barely remember what those sensations were, so long had he been trapped in the cold, hard stone. The unforgiving prison that he had been kept in by Smaug. It was overwhelming out in the light, the warmth, the softness of his father’s cheek beneath his fingers. It was too much but he would not trade it for anything in the world, for so long all that had been in his world was cold and stone and dragon’s breath.

Frilief’s eyes flicked over to the other elf man with them. He was tall, though not as tall as Thranduil, and looked quite strong and capable. He was broad, well built and had fine masculine features. He was quite handsome and his hair fell low over his shoulders, a pale gold curtain like his father’s. His jaw was square and set, his face almost perfect in its symmetry… He was pale and fair to the eye, clearly a Sindar but Frilief knew that only precious few Sindar actually remained in the mortal realm. It wasn’t until he met the elf’s eyes that he realized who he must be looking at. Those eyes, so much like his father’s and his own. Frilief cried out in shock, “Legolas!” Clearly startling the other elf, but Frilief could not contain his sudden joy, “Nín pîn hˈɑnɑr! (My little brother!) You have grown so much!” He struggled to rise but his body was weak.

Thranduil helped his weakened son to kneel, crouching in front of Legolas.

“H’anar!” Frilief held out a hand to the man his brother had grown into, easily disregarding his brother’s wary look. It had clearly been some time since they had seen each other after all.

Legolas hesitated but glanced at his father, Thranduil looked at him and their eyes met. Thranduil nodded once, briefly, and that was all the confirmation Legolas needed to know that ‘Frilief’ spoke the truth. This elfling was, somehow, his older brother. Even without the nod from his father, he doubted he would have been able to resist the earnest joy in Frilief’s eyes as the boy reached for him. Legolas took Frilief’s hand gently in his own, marveling at the strength in the boy’s delicate fingers as they curled around his own, “Brother.” Legolas responded simply with a small smile. He did not know what else to say, but apparently it had been enough.

If Frilief had looked joyous before, now he was positively radiant in his delight. He smiled brightly and his sky-blue eyes sparkled merrily, rimmed with tears. “I have missed you both.” He rested heavily against his father with one arm around Thranduil’s neck and one hand reaching out and clasped tightly in his brother’s own hands. Even against his father’s armor it felt so much warmer than his former prison.

Thorin backed away slightly, not wanting to intrude on what was clearly an emotional moment for the Mirkwood royal family. Bard approached slightly and Thorin gestured him over, happy for the distraction. Bard seemed torn between staring at the elf royals and trying not to stare at the three. He looked relieved when he took note of Thorin and dismounting he approached the dwarf king on foot.

“I will keep my word.” Thorin intoned quietly, not wanting to distract the family from their moment. “I have my men separating Laketown’s share as we speak.”

Bard let out an incredulous but happy breath. “I thank you, master dwarf. Or Lord Under the Mountain, however it is that I must call you now.” He reached out and grasped Thorin’s hand. “Thank you.” He had lost all he owned in that terrible dragon fire and many had died. This would not heal all wounds but it would go a long way to repairing the damage wrought by the dragon.

Thorin would have replied but his attention was once more caught by the Mirkwood royal family as their recently recovered elfling perked up as much as he could in his weakened state and looked around hopefully.

“Nana? (Mama?)” Frilief looked around, wondering at the lack of his mother’s presence. If both Thranduil and Legolas were here, then surely his mother would be too? If he knew his mother, then there was no way she would let her husband and son come to a dragon infested mountain on their own. “Ada where is Naneth? (Mother?)” Both Legolas and Thranduil noticeably flinched at his innocent question. Frilief felt fear like ice crawl up his spine. His eyes darted between the two, Legolas was carefully blank but his expression seemed tighter than before and he couldn’t meet Frilief’s questioning gaze. Thranduil’s face was serene as always but for the pain in the depths of his eyes. “No!” Frilief whispered in horror. It could not be true. Not after everything he had sacrificed to prevent such a thing, not after all those years locked away in a tomb. His eyes searched his father’s for some sign of hope but Thranduil could not meet the eyes of his son, could not provide the hope the elfling so desperately sought. 

Thranduil turned away, just slightly, as familiar guilt welled up in his throat. His tears now no longer of joy, but of loss, grief and the terrible guilt for not being enough to save her. 

“NO!” Frilief screamed out in his grief, pulling away from Legolas and pushing away from his father, trying to look around him, as though Thranduil might be wrong. As though he might yet see his mother in the crowd around them, looking just as she always did. “NANA!” He screamed out, merely a child calling for the comfort of his mother. “MAMA!” He repeated in another language, hoping beyond hope that she would answer his desperate cry. There was no answer and his tears fell freely. “No! NO!” He pushed away more forcefully but his father did not relinquish his grip, instead holding Frilief close as he wailed in grief.

“Goheno nín (forgive me), ion-nín, I failed you.” Thranduil whispered as he held his son close.

Frilief struggled against his father’s grip but he was weaker than he should be and he couldn’t move his father’s arms. “Leithio nín! (Release me!)” He growled at his father as he struggled. “Why martyr myself when it did not save her?!” He screamed. “Why sleep while she died? What was the point of any of this?!” His grief was inconsolable and his rage was palpable, like electricity in the air. “ _I want my Nana!_ ” He screamed like child for his mother. 

There was not a single heart who heard him that did not break for his desperate plea. Thorin’s heart ached for the poor child, as did Bard’s. It was a cruel world that separated a child from their mother.

An odd movement caught Thorin’s eye and he turned his gaze downwards, there on the ground, was the circlet that had adorned Frilief’s brow. The purple gem set in the middle seemed to darken for a moment. His eyes narrowed and he turned back to the boy in Thranduil’s arms.

As Frilief cried out once more in grief his eyes began to glow, and as his eyes glowed a purple gem began to vibrate, going unnoticed by all except Thorin who was looking curiously between the two.

Frilief’s eyes glowed, sparking and crackling like lighting that spread from his eyes and through his veins until he had odd streaks of glowing blue all over. “Nana!” He cried again throwing his head back and trying to wrest his way away from his father.

Legolas could not help but stare, awed, as he saw the pure raw magic streaking across his brother’s skin. Frilief looked almost as though he were breaking apart with cracks of light lining his skin, although the blue light seemed concentrated around his eyes.

“Calm, ion-nín, be calm.” Thranduil tried but it seemed Frilief was inconsolable.

The gem shook further, growing darker by the minute and when Thorin once more directed his attention to the stone it was almost completely black.

Frilief threw his head back and his eyes widened impossibly but seemed unseeing.

“Ada!” Legolas leant forward, trying to help, worried.

Frilief began to convulse violently in Thranduil’s arms. The power through his veins seemed to shutter, blinking out before flaring brightly. The boy began to gasp for air as though he could not breathe and he continued to thrash in his father’s arms.

It was all Thranduil could do to hold onto his son. He looked down horrified as his little star’s body seemed to curl and writhe in pain. Frilief’s mouth gaped open and closed but no more words were uttered and no air seemed to make it into the boy’s desperate lungs. “Do not let fate be so cruel!” Thranduil begged but he wasn’t sure to whom he was directing his plea. “Do not steal my child again!” He would not survive losing his son again so soon after finding him.

Tears streamed from Frilief’s wide eyes and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he choked seemingly on the air itself. His magic flared brightly but seemed to struggle to stay lit and soon spittle was trailing from his gaping lips as he desperately gasped for relief that he did not find. His lungs burned and his hands rose to claw at his throat as his power flared once more. But the longer he struggled, the weaker he became.

Thorin looked from the boy who was struggling for life and down at the gem on the golden crown Frilief had been wearing. The gem was now darker than night and every time Frilief’s power flickered it vibrated and became impossibly darker. “Give me your hammer.” Thorin ordered Dwalin who was standing behind him.

Without question the loyal dwarf handed his weapon to the King.

Thorin hefted the hammer, looked briefly over and saw that the boy still fought, and he brought the massive weapon down as hard as he could on the once purple stone.

He realized almost immediately afterwards that perhaps he should have asked Gandalf for help with the obviously magical item. The metal of the crown twisted and bent but the gem inside shattered at the force of Thorin’s blow.

A shockwave blasted Thorin back, although he managed to remain on his feet. The powerful backlash sounded like a gong throughout the fields below the Lonely Mountain, making some fall and many stumble.

Frilief gasped in a single, complete breath, before his magic faded and his eyes rolled up in his head. He lost consciousness and fell limp in his father’s arms.

Legolas let out a relieved sigh as he saw that his brother, while unconscious, was breathing steadily. He rose and placed a hand briefly on his father’s shoulder. “I will alert the healers.” He informed Thranduil quietly.

Thranduil looked up at his younger son. Their eyes met and the King closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you.”

Legolas nodded and with a last look at the dwarf who had returned Frilief he headed back through the Mirkwood army ranks to ensure the healers prepared for little Frilief. The further he walked away the heavier his heart became. He did not want to leave his brother’s side but feared for his control should he have remained longer. All Legolas wanted to do was gather the frail elfling in his arms and never let go. He hardened his heart and continued on to his task.

Gandalf approached the group at the entrance to Erebor, with Bilbo at his side. “That was careless.” The old wizard arched an eyebrow at Thorin who still looked rather shocked at the result of destroying the gem.

“Aye.” Thorin agreed, breathless.

Thranduil rose smoothly, holding his son close. “Mithrandir, please.” Thranduil approached the wizard with his son. Usually he would be up to the task himself but his emotional state was too frayed for the delicate task he needed the wizard for. “The magic that was binding him, is it gone?”

Gandalf straightened his robes and held a hand over Frilief’s face for a moment, his attention turned inwards. “I detect no lingering darkness. Your boy is safe.” The wizard assured gently.

Thranduil let out a breath, and composing himself he looked back to the dwarf king. Their eyes met and held for a moment, each staring each other down. Thranduil inclined his head slightly, before gracefully turning away and heading back into the ruins to find healers for his son. His army parted for him easily and his elk followed loyally behind him.

Thorin huffed but was not offended. Instead he turned to Gandalf and then to Bilbo, who was shuffling nervously besides the wizard, looking smaller than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> This whole series is just a collection of random 'first chapters' that I've written while working on other projects. It's what I do when I'm stuck on something, I write a 'first chapter' of something else to get my creative juices flowing. I may finish alla these in time and I may not - you have been warned.


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